


Chasing Fireflies

by Alexis_Black



Series: Child of the Hunt Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: HPFT, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Romance, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 13:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6471820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Black/pseuds/Alexis_Black
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah Forsythe has one foot in the Muggle world and one paw in the realm of magic. When she finds herself unexpectedly in London as the full moon approaches, she turns to the one person she can trust - the one who infected her with lycanthropy. Will Remus remember chasing fireflies?</p><p>Change log 01.09.17: Added snippets of dialogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

_Dear Remus,  
Hi! It’s Sarah Forsythe. I don’t know if you remember me -_

I stopped writing abruptly and wadded up the letter in frustration. With a flick of my wrist, it joined the three previous attempts in the wastebasket. I yanked my reading glasses off, closed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair in an effort to stave off my rising irritation. _For crap's sake! Why is writing a simple letter so difficult?_

Perhaps it was that I hadn’t spoken to the recipient in twenty-five years. It was hard to imagine what he might be like now, not having heard from him in so long. Maybe his accidently gifting me with lycanthropy played a role in; not easy to forget something like that. It put a whole new spin on the phrase “that time of the month”. Or it could also have been that letter Hogwarts sent years ago, informing me in no uncertain terms that our Muggle-wizard friendship was unsuitable. Without a question of a doubt, though, the difficulty in organizing my thoughts on paper had nothing to do with the fact that Remus Lupin was the first boy I had ever kissed.

I slammed the door shut on that particular memory. Getting caught up in that part of the past was not going to help my present situation. I opened my eyes and decided I had to get out of the room. It felt too confining and I always thought better when I was moving; jogging preferably, but I hadn’t brought any workout clothes. A walk was definitely in order.

Downstairs I asked the bartender if someone could open the door to Diagon Alley for me. Being a werewolf who was also a Mundane, or Muggle as they liked to call us here, had its distinct disadvantages. Although I was touched by magic, I could perform none myself. It made for awkward situations, like just walking into the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone stared, not knowing quite what to do: ignore the Muggle woman in their midst and hope she’d go away on her own or make up a story to convince me that I what I had really intended was to visit the neighboring bookstore and get me out of the wizarding establishment as soon as humanly possible. By turns I found the reactions amusing or downright annoying. It wasn’t as if we were a completely different species; Muggles just lacked the necessary inherited trait to perform magic.

It was that trait that I could thank for being able to contract lycanthropy in the first place. What opened the door to magic also left one exposed to other things: enhanced intuition, unusual luck, receptiveness to glimpsing odd things from the corner of one’s eyes, and vulnerability to mysterious illnesses, just to name a few. It could skip a few generations, but when you came right down to it one was either born with the trait or not. That meant somewhere in my family tree was a witch or a wizard. After more than ten years of searching, I’ve yet to found out who it was; I’ve been thinking lately it might be hidden in the bit of Cheyenne blood I carried.

Needless to say, Muggle werewolves were rare, exceedingly so. To survive the attack of a werewolf was a daunting enough task. Most don’t live due to simple blood loss and severity of injuries. For those unfortunate few like me that both survived and ended up infected, it usually took years of lycanthropy simmering in the blood to fully take hold. There was an upside, as impossibly crazy as it might sound that lycanthropy would have any sort of silver lining. It had cured my fibromyalgia, something I had struggled with since childhood.

Not that anyone here knew I bore the curse. If they did, I probably would be kicked out of the Leaky Cauldron. Werewolves were treated like social pariah in England, unlike back home in America. I was simply a wizard-friend as far as the customers here knew, which was uncommon enough in and of itself.

A Muggle that knew about the magical world and that could be trusted was sometimes given the opportunity to become a wizard-friend. The majority of the time Muggles exposed to the world of magic simply had their memories Oblivated. It was far easier and safer that way. However, there were occasions that a Muggle’s memory was not tampered with. Muggle spouses, non-magical siblings and stepsiblings were examples of common situations where memories went unaltered. A stern warning to remain silent typically was good enough.

The other situation occurred when the Muggle in question had neither marital nor blood ties, but embraced the hidden world of magic that existed alongside of them, and had already proved that they could be relied upon to keep its secrets. Close friends or even business associates fell into this category. I knew of one medical researcher at John Hopkins that worked with a witch counterpart in a joint effort on whether magically derived potions could possible be effective in treating cancer.

Those few people that interacted with the wizard community on a frequent basis and to the benefit of both worlds often bore an enchanted trinket that allowed magical folk to know what they were. I wore a charm bracelet given to me by the Lupin family. The heart charm was picked out by Remus himself and bore his initials. For a wizard-born, they’d sense an odd vibration from the bracelet once they laid eyes on it. The bracelet would tingle on my wrist when magic was worked nearby or when I passed near a location protected by Muggle repelling charms. In order to gain entry to a place protected by such, all I had to do was expose my bracelet. Most of the time, it was enough. That wasn’t the case with the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron though, which meant I had to ask for help.

Once through, I wandered the long cobbled street with its strange shops, peering through display windows. There was a good chance that Remus had walked along the same street, perhaps even as an adult, but most certainly at least while growing up. A co-worker had informed me this was where Hogwarts students often came to purchase school supplies. There were certainly enough school-aged youngsters on the streets to serve as proof of that.

For close to twenty-two years I have been both wizard-friend and Muggle werewolf. Those years had been often wondrous and at times painful. During it all, I had never forgotten Remus or the first time I experienced magic.

This was another first; I had never been to Diagon Alley before. It was a study in contrasts when likened to the underground wizarding shopping district in Salem that lay beneath a local river. The enchanted watery ceiling there lent a magical feel to the place with the ripples of light that danced over the buildings and streets. 

I tried to enjoy myself as I ambled along Diagon Alley despite the open stares I received. Of course I stuck out like a sore thumb in Muggle clothing. Blue jeans and a New York Jets baseball cap will do that, even in the Big Apple particularly when the Giants were winning. But I refused to wear robes and pretend I was something that I wasn’t. 

At one dusty window I stopped short. In it was a solitary wand displayed on a purple cushion faded by constant exposure to sunlight. The sign overhead read “Ollivander’s: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.”*. Ever since I had learned about the magical world, I had ached to hold a wand, to wield magic for myself. That would never happen, though. I had inherited only enough of the wizard trait to have been infected with lycanthropy. Lucky me.

When a short, plump witch with a kind face pulled her teenaged daughter out of my path, I couldn’t help but feel insulted despite my obviously out of place clothing. My sleeves were rolled up and my bracelet was clearly visible. Even the girl seemed surprised and shot me an apologetic look from under her vivid red hair. Yet underneath my indignation, I couldn’t find fault with her mother’s actions. There was an undercurrent of worry in the wizard community on this side of the pond. I could smell the faint rancid scent of fear even here in Diagon Alley. Rumours of the Dark Mark appearing at the 422nd Quidditch World Cup and gossip of strange events at the Tri-Wizard Cup had reached the States.

That was the reason why I was in London in the first place. I worked for the U.S. Bureau of Magic and the Supernatural, or USBMS, in the Mundane Enforcement Office. Being both a Muggle werewolf and a wizard-friend gave me a unique perspective as a Mundane Observer. The position was relatively new. It required an agent to watch for clues and hints that a Muggle might know more than they should. This included following up on stories written in tabloids, chasing down internet rumors and occasionally influencing script writers or movie producers to change elements that were deemed to be too close to the truth. The _National Inquisitor_ regularly gave us fits; a wizarding publication sold under the guise of a Mundane tabloid to wizards and Mundanes alike was just unheard of anywhere outside our borders. They were just one of the reasons why agents often worked undercover in the Muggle world.

Officially my visit to London was strictly business between the Bureau and the Ministry of Magic. We had picked up some chatter about extraordinary events from Muggle internet sources that seemed to corroborate the rumors out of the wizard community over here. When our department contacted the Ministry, it was curtly informed that there was no truth to the rumors concerning He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Any chatter we had picked up was obviously an issue of over-imaginative agents in our department and that perhaps an internal investigation was needed on our part.

Funny how that response hadn’t sat well with some at the Bureau. A few high-placed members of the USBMS felt that perhaps politics was getting in the way of the truth. Top members of the Werewolf Council had also expressed some concerns; this was likely influenced by the general dislike they had for the Ministry’s stance on werewolves. It had been my friend, Virginia Whitmore, Dean of the American Magical Academy, who suggested that perhaps an off the record approach might yield better results. My unofficial mission was to quietly nose around London for a few days and see if I could track down anything interesting.

I wasn’t their first choice, not even their second, but somehow here I was walking down Diagon Alley trying hard to avoid composing a simple letter. _Damn it! If Danielle hadn’t had that little accident or if Rory hadn’t gotten violently ill from eating bad sushi, I’d be at home without a worry about this week’s full moon. Who ate sushi from a sketchy food truck anyways?_

That was the reason for the letter in the first place. The full moon was going to rise the day after tomorrow and I needed a safe haven outside of the werewolf colonies. The last thing I wanted was to go to one of them. The one time I had occasion to visit a colony, I came away with the feeling it had been a handful of steps away from what a Jewish quarter might have looked like back in World War II. The memory made me shudder.

My need didn’t stem from a lack of Wolfsbane potion. I had four doses left: one in my purse for tonight and the rest hidden in my luggage. I just wanted to make sure I transformed in a secured location, preferably somewhere isolated. With the current feelings toward werewolves in England, I felt insecure. I had heard of cases where a werewolf was captured or killed due to “suspicious activities” regardless of Wolfsbane potion. I doubt they’d make an exception for a visiting American werewolf even if I did work for the USBMS.

As a werewolf and subject to the same concerns, Remus would know of a safe place to wait out the moon. I realized that the administration at Hogwarts had stepped between our friendship strictly for his benefit, but surely Remus would remember me with some remnant of affection.

_Won’t he?_

I was back where I started earlier, needing to compose that letter. _Okay, Sarah, how about … “Hey Remus, remember me, that Muggle girl you attacked before heading off to Hogwarts? Well I get furry once a month now …”_

I silenced the snarky voice in my head. It wasn’t Remus’ fault, and I of all people knew that. If anyone should shoulder the blame, it really was me. I had been far too inquisitive, seen one too many odd things around him. That I had been all of ten years of age and incredibly naïve played no small part, but that was neither here nor there.

I corralled my wandering thoughts and went back to my internal dictation. It took several strolls down the length of Diagon Alley to compose the right words, all the while drawing furtive looks from those around. When I had gotten it down the best I could, I headed over to Scribbulus, picked out some nice stationary.

Back in my room at the Leaky Cauldron, I impulsively rubbed the inside of my wrist against the parchment in hopes it would retain enough of my scent. Then I picked up my quill once more and wrote what needed to be said.

_Dear Remus,_

_I know that it has been years since we last corresponded, but I hope the name Sarah Forsythe still rings a bell. Yes, I’m the little American Muggle girl who lived down the lane from you when we were children. The one with her dirty-blond hair in pigtails and scabs on her knees who decided it would be best if we were friends. Tell me, do you remember chasing fireflies in those long summer evenings?_

_If your memory should recall those days with any fondness, I would like to beg a favor. As you well know, the day after tomorrow is the full moon. I don’t know quite how to put this, so please excuse me if I am a bit direct. Remus, I’m a werewolf. Everyone was wrong all those years ago. I really was infected. I guess there is some witch blood in my family. It took time for the lycanthropy to take full effect due to my being a Muggle, but there it is._

_In any case, I am in London on business this week. The trip was quite unexpected and so I find myself without a secure location to spend tomorrow evening. I realize that a lot of time has passed and that our unusual friendship was brief, but I wondered if you would help me. Could you guide me to a safe haven as a favor to an old friend?_

_You may post your response to me via owl at the Leaky Cauldron._

_Sincerely,_  
_Sarah_  
_… who still occasionally chases fireflies_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written long ago under a different penname at a different site. The name of my original beta has been lost to the ages.
> 
> The line about Ollivander’s shop is from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, by JK Rowling, page 83, U.S. hardback edition.
> 
> Story banner by angelic. @ TDA
> 
> Chasing Fireflies takes place in the same universe as Child of the Hunt, just prior to the start of Alexis' tale.


	2. A Dog Named James

I peered critically at my reflection in the mirror. My dark blonde hair fell loose below my shoulders and touch of makeup highlighted my hazel eyes.

 _Yes, that would do_ , I concluded as my lips curved upwards in a private smile. I didn’t want to appear overly made-up when I met Remus. The same logic applied to my outfit: a simple button-down shirt, jeans and boots. On the other hand, that I had bothered with the make up at all was mute testimony to the fact that I was more concerned about my appearance than I readily cared to admit, even to myself.

I glanced at the parchment lying on the bed alongside the accompanying lovely green and silver scarf. It had surprised me when Remus had responded so quickly to my letter. Barely an hour had passed when his package arrived.

   
_Dear Sarah,_

_Meet me at the Double Star fountain on Lovers Walk in Hyde Park at 6pm. Wear the enclosed scarf._

_RJL_

 

I wondered briefly about the location. Hyde Park was not part of the wizard community. Yet at the same time, I felt a little thrill. He had answered my letter despite the enormous time and distance that had separated us. Perhaps he had remembered me with kindness. Remus had even sent a scarf, although the logical side of my head pointed out that this was more than likely a simple method of identifying me. How else would he recognize me? No longer was I the tomboyish girl who wore her hair in pigtails.

I picked the long scarf up and examined it closely. It was exquisitely made with small silver snakes that chased the edges. The silky material slithered through my hands with a soft rustle. I held it up to my nose and inhaled. Oddly enough where I expected the distinct scent of a male werewolf, there was only a lingering musty smell that was reminiscent of mothballs.

 _Hmm … probably the scent was of whatever store he had brought it from._ I shrugged. It’s the thought that counted, right? I slipped on my black jacket and I tucked the scarf under the collar. The fringed ends fluttered outside the jacket, just below my waist. Then I pushed up my sleeves so that my enchanted bracelet was clearly visible and headed out, purse in hand.

The trip to Hyde Park was uneventful. I arrived ten minutes early and sat down on the edge of the fountain. Foot traffic was average for this time of day. Luckily it wasn’t a Sunday; otherwise the Speaker’s Corner would have been filled. Pedestrians walked by, chatting with each other. Couples holding hands strolled along. On the busy street nearby, double-decker buses lumbered between darting taxi cabs; the distasteful smell of their exhaust this close to the full moon made me want to leave the city.

I watched it all, alternating between anxiety and impatience. Each man that approached was examined carefully with the question in mind whether it was Remus. How tall would he be? We were of a similar height as kids, but that might mean nothing now. Did he still have the light brown hair that I remembered? The shy, mischievous smile? My fingers kept playing with my bracelet, rubbing the silver heart charm. Perhaps we could share a toast of Wolfsbane potion as we discussed the past.

That’s probably why I didn’t notice the dog at first. It was a big, black mutt with neither collar nor owner in sight. As a rule, dogs don’t scare me. They haven’t since the first time I changed in the light of the full moon. Animals like wolves and dogs could tell a werewolf by scent alone and often became skittish, even when the werewolf was in human form. One good whiff and dogs kept their distance.

But not this one; it boldly approached me. I stood up and gave it a good, hard look, trying to warn it off when it did the unexpected. It gathered its legs beneath it and leaped at me. Natural instinct made me stumble backwards. My legs connected with the fountain’s edge and I nearly tumbled in. While I was fighting to keep my balance, the dog daintily grabbed one of the ends of the scarf and tugged. In a flash, the silky material slithered around my collar and off.

“Hey!” I yelled. The dog whirled around and ran, the scarf fluttering behind it like a banner. I took off after it. There was no way I was going to let that mangy mutt get away with the scarf. Remus had sent it to me! The dog flitted between walkers and darted off out of the park. I lost sight of it as it fled down an underground passage that led to the other side of the busy street.

When I entered the tunnel, I slowed down. The sound of my boots echoed as I cautiously made my way forward. It was gloomy down there; shadows gathered along the walls. Although my night vision was always good thanks to my lycanthropy, I couldn’t make out the dog. My nose picked up the scent of magic just as my bracelet started to tingle.

_That’s no ordinary dog._

A congenial male voice rang out from the shadows, “So, you’re Remus’ Muggle friend.” A man stepped out of the shadows. In his hand was my green and silver scarf, which he was stuffing into a pocket of his robes.

I held my ground as footsteps approached. “That’s right, Animagus. I’m Sarah Forsythe. And you are?”

“James Potter,” he answered with a cocky grin. He stepped closer to me with his hands opened, palms out, to show he had no intention of harming me. “Remus sent me to meet you. He got caught up in something unexpected and didn’t want you to think he had stood you up. Sorry about grabbing the scarf, I just wanted you to follow me out the Muggle park.”

I ran the name James Potter through my mind. I thought I had heard of it before, but it was elusive, like trying to track a sneaky fox.

 _That’s it!_ I had it. Remus had mentioned the name in one of the few letters he had sent from Hogwarts. It said a lot that not only did I still have those letters in their faded envelopes secure in a box beneath my bed back home, but that I could remember the enclosed details after all those years.

We shook hands and that’s when I first caught the faint scent of male werewolf. This close to the moon, that whiff was almost heady. Apparently James had been in recent contact with Remus. It was all the confirmation I needed. When James suggested we wait at his home where Remus was staying as a guest, I readily agreed.

~ ~ * ~ ~

I leaned forward across large kitchen table, a warm cup of tea in my hand. James was quite a charming fellow. He had Side-Along Apparated me directly to his home, fed me scones and tea, and had been the perfect gentlemen. It ended up that the green and silver scarf enclosed in Remus’ letter had been James’ idea, just so I could be easily spotted. It had once belonged to his deceased mother.

_No wonder it smells like mothballs. Oh well, green really isn’t my color._

That wasn’t the only scent I had picked up. Without a doubt, Remus had been here, often if I was right. Yet so had many others. Traces were layered one over the other. Had there been a gathering of some sort? It piqued my curiosity.

James himself proved quite the inquisitive sort. _Then again, just how many Muggle werewolves does a wizard run across? I’ve only met two others in my life._ I answered his questions good-naturedly. Remus unsurprisingly had not been very forthcoming about how he happened to infect a Muggle. Most werewolves don’t like to discuss those types of matters with outsiders. So I sat there relaying the censored version of how I became a werewolf. Censored because there were things that were strictly between Remus and I; things that lingered in the heart, like first love, kisses and silly childhood promises made at twilight.

I would have to deal with those later, when Remus arrived. For now I enjoyed speaking to James. When I finished my abbreviated tale, I turned the tables on him and started firing away my own questions. I had never met one of Remus’ friends and had no problem pumping him with all the skills the Bureau had given me for information regarding my old friend.

Remus had written me a handful of letters during the first two months he attended Hogwarts. He had described the ancient castle with its numerous ghosts, moving stairs and Houses. From those letters, I had learned about subjects like Transfiguration and Potions. It was in them that he had revealed the names of his new friends and that he had been looking forward to seeing me again over the Christmas break.

Then silence. The letters had stopped. I had waited each day for an owl to come, but the skies above my house remained empty except for the occasional raven and the ever present rain clouds. Those days of November had never felt so cold or lonely.

I shook off the dreary memory as James began to tell me about some of the pranks he had played on his fellow students. That Remus would be involved in such tricks was not surprising. He had always been the quiet yet mischievous sort. It was obvious that James had been the leader, though. Soon enough, I was laughing as I hadn’t for months. James had such an animated way in relaying a story that I could almost see the events he described.

“So there Remus was, trying to hold down the damn cat while I painted it the colors of our House.” James held his arms out as if trying to wrangle an invisible feline on the table. “Fur was everywhere, in our hair, stuck to our robes and Mrs. Norris was caterwauling as -”

Several loud cracks resounded close by halted James’ storytelling in mid-sentence. The scent of magic filled the air and my bracelet quivered. Numerous voices came from upstairs.

_Did one of the voices belong to Remus?_

James looked about apprehensively as he lowered his arms. The smell of anxiety spiced his otherwise pleasant scent. I was about to ask what was the matter when the kitchen door opened and a herd of people tromped through.

“-I’ve told you a dozen times, there is no need to whip your wands out for every – Oh, I give up!”* A plump middle-aged witch with a flushed face marched into the kitchen. She was followed by a brood of redheaded teenagers included a young girl that look familiar. Everyone was loaded down with packages.

“But Mum, it was just-”

“I don’t want to hear another word, George!”

For a moment, I was startled. That was the witch that had pulled her daughter away when she spotted me in Diagon Alley. Just as I arrived at that realization, the witch caught sight of me and pulled up short. We both stared at each other.

“Honestly, Mum. I’m Fred, not George,” one of her sons corrected her, despite his mother’s shift in attention from her twins.

A bushy-haired girl with her nose in a book absently pushed her way through the knot of redheads near the door. She was closely followed by a young man in glasses, who looked surprised to see a stranger in the kitchen.

Turning my attention back to the short middle-aged witch, I got an odd sinking feeling in my stomach when she lit into James.

“What is the meaning of this, Sirius? Bringing in an outsider? Here?” With each question, her voice rose.

I glanced over at James. _Why is she calling him Sirius?_ The name niggled at my brain, but I pushed it aside and narrowed my eyes at him. “You said your name was James Potter.”

“James Potter?” the bespectacled teen asked. “He’s not my dad!”

The wizard formerly known as James held up his hands in defense. “I can explain,” he started as I rose from the kitchen table.

“Bloody hell, what’s a Muggle doing here?” the youngest redheaded boy asked.

The girl with the book spared me a glance and then rolled her eyes. “Really Ron, look at her wrist. Can’t you feel the magic her bracelet emits? She’s obviously a wizard-friend.”

“Most of the time,” I agreed with the girl, my voice dropping low and edging towards a growl. “But right now, I’m more of a pissed-off werewolf.” I ignored their alarmed murmuring and stalked towards Sirius, who was backing away. It was obvious the letter I had received had been a fake. I had been duped and my temper, always near the surface this close to the full moon, was rising. “Let me guess. Remus never saw my letter.”

“I never saw what letter?” a hoarse voice asked. I swung my gaze back toward the kitchen door. A wizard in rumpled brown robes strode in with a cute young woman with pink hair at his side.

I stared at this slightly bedraggled stranger I had never laid eyes on before and knew in an instant it was Remus. His light brown hair was now sprinkled with grey and his tired face was much older than the image in my head, but there was no doubt. Then I drew in a deep breath and his scent flooded over me. It was slightly spicy and smoky with musky undertones and the taste of something distinctly untamed. It was intoxicating. My hands clenched into fists, not out of anger, but out of need to stave off the wolf lurking within me.

“Hello, Remus.” My voice was husky and filled with unspoken emotions. My scent must have hit him right then because he froze in his tracks and his nose flared as he inhaled deeply. A frown marred his forehead in mild confusion and I realized his face bore scars I hadn’t seen before. Were they from other werewolves or inflicted by his own claws during the transformation?

Sirius took advantage of my distraction. He slipped out the corner I had almost trapped him in and over to Remus, where he handed him a yellow parchment. I watched quietly as Remus leaned against one of the counters and began to read. The young woman, who was obviously a witch, remained at his side. She alternately peered at the letter and then at me. The spiky scent of jealousy rolled off her in waves and envy marred her pretty features as she possessively stepped closer to Remus. There were daggers in her eyes for me. If she had been a wolf, her hackles would have risen.

My fingers found the bracelet and the little silver heart.

Remus closed his eyes abruptly as if in pain. Then he lower his head and touched his temple in a movement that shielded his face from view. The other hand that held my letter closed convulsively, crumpling the parchment while the rest of him went utterly still. The pink-haired witch laid a comforting arm across his shoulders.

The room was awkwardly quiet and a tension hung in the air thick enough to shred with claws. In that heavy silence, something inside of me tore as I realized I had been wrong; wrong to write to Remus, wrong to come. Why would Remus have anything to do with me? I was just a Muggle, a reminder of an event he probably wanted to forget. My eyes burned and the scones I had eaten were a leaden weight in my stomach as I fought to breathe.

“Forgive me,” I muttered, “this was a terrible mistake.”

I tore my eyes away from Remus and grabbed my purse from the table. Before anyone could react, I raced from the room, pushing past the gaggle of teenagers and up the stairs. Thankfully the hallway led straight to the front door. I bolted out into the cool twilight and slipped away into the sheltering shadows of the fog-cloaked London streets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A line was used from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by JKRowling, chapter five, page 84, US hardback edition.


	3. Promises

I don’t know what I would have done had that taxicab not rolled out of the fog when it did. I didn’t have a clue where I was or where I was headed. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Remus shielding his face from me and my crumpled letter clutched in his hand.

When the driver asked for my destination, I told him the first thing that came to mind: the London Eye. There was an advertisement for it across the street. The last place I wanted to be was anywhere near the wizarding community and a ride up in the sky overlooking the city seemed like a grand idea. Maybe I could escape my problems up there, although I doubted it.

I bribed the attendant at the Eye an exorbitant amount of money in order to have a capsule to myself for the duration of the ride. The tears started flowing the moment I stepped aboard. Images came and went unfettered, reeling from the present to the past like a film in reverse. Remus reading my letter in the kitchen. The pink-haired witch with her arm on his shoulders. The look of horror on the face of one of my former boyfriends when he realized the monster that lurked beneath my skin. A letter with the seal of Hogwarts informing me to desist in writing one of their students. Fireflies flitting about in a glass jar. Each image brought its own surge of tears.

There are some things that stay with a person forever. For some it is their wedding or the birth of a child. For others it is the first time they worked magic or experience the death of a loved one. For me it was love and the first boy I ever kissed, the one who held hands with me while we chased fireflies. It was Remus, the boy who promised that one day he would marry me.

My fingers twisted the bracelet around my wrist. From it hung charms for those I have helped, for my lineage both by blood and curse, and for those I called friends. I caressed each one as I recalled their meaning. Wolf for those cursed like me; wand for the witches and wizards who supported me at work; feather for my Cheyenne heritage, distant though it may be; and heart. The silver heart was a shiny blur between my fingers. I couldn’t see the initials RJL on it, but I could feel the engraving of them. My tears led me back to that time when I wore my hair in pigtails and hated everything about England.

When I had turned nine, my father was given orders to RAF Lakenheath in England. He was a pilot in the United States Air Force. I had never been overseas before. At first I had thought it was going to be a wonderful adventure; my mom had promised it would be. It hadn’t even been close.

Due to the shortage of on-base housing, we had ended up living in the outskirts of a small town named Thetford. There were no other American families there. Instead of making friends easily as I did back at our old base, I became a loner. The village children made fun of my accent, my appearance and my lack of knowledge about anything “normal”. They told me to bugger off, go back home and take the rest of the bloody Yanks with me.

Then there were the other children, the ones who behaved oddly and lived on the other side of the woods. They might have worn strange clothing like robes, but they were no better. They outright refused to play with me and called me an ignorant Muggle, not that I knew what that term meant at that time.

After being in England for only one month, I had come to hate everything about it: the gloomy weather, the food but most of all, the people. It didn’t help that my fibromyalgia flared up. The fatigue, achiness and difficulty sleeping made adjusting to England all the more trying. My mother, bless her soul, decided it would be best if I was home-schooled. She did her best to educate and entertain me.

I had led a solitary life for several months before I first caught sight of Remus. He was playing in an empty field near the woods. Right away it was clear he was one of those others, but he seemed different. He shyly accepted when I asked if he would play with me. It was a shock to find someone who didn’t make fun of me.

That was the beginning of our friendship. We would meet a couple of times a week in the field after my school work was done. Often we played until the sun dipped down to the tree tops. Then his mother caught us and Remus disappeared for an entire week. I went to the field every day regardless of the weather. I had almost given up when he reappeared one afternoon.

At first his mother stayed nearby when we played, but little by little she came to trust me. When the weather would turn cold and wet, I had tried to invite him to play in my house, but he steadfastly refused. Remus never invited me to his house, either. As odd as that might have seemed, the strangest thing was that occasionally Remus disappeared for days on end. When I asked him about it, he had claimed he got sick a lot.

Finally summer made its appearance. I had been there close to a year by that time. It was the first occasion I had ever seen fireflies. Where we had been stationed previously there had been relentless sunshine and dust storms. Fireflies were nothing short than enchanting to me. The way they danced above the ground like earth-bound stars was magical.

Remus taught me how to catch fireflies. We would go chasing them in the summer twilight and put them in a large glass jar. Before we left to our respective homes, we always remembered to set the fireflies free.

Some time over that endless summer Remus became more than a friend in my eyes. I developed a crush on that shy, mischievous boy down the lane. The feeling was mutual. In the beginning we held hands briefly, making sure there was no one watching.

Summer gave way to fall, which in time yielded to winter. The following Christmas Eve, we kissed for the first time. It was terribly awkward, bumping noses, unsure of exactly how it went. Oh, but it had been magical. I thought I saw little red sparks fly when our lips had met. That had been the best Christmas ever, for I was Remus Lupin’s girlfriend.

By the time spring had rolled around, I actually was invited to dinner at Remus’ home. The house was small yet tidy, a warm comforting place. I couldn’t understand why his parents had been so hesitant in letting me over. The only funny thing that had stood out to me was the lack of picture frames. I could see on the wall where pictures might have been, but nothing had hung on the empty nails. Before I left I did find one small picture frame that had been forgotten in the kitchen. For a moment I thought I had seen the figures in it move, but that couldn’t have been right. At least, that’s what I had told myself.

Summer returned, only it brought with it more than just warmer weather. That was the summer I had learned Remus’ dark secret. It had all started out with Remus getting sick, again. By then I had noticed a pattern. Remus would get sick once a month, almost as if on schedule. Without his knowing, I sat down one day and had plotted it on a calendar. The result had seemed so weird, so far-fetched, that I dismissed it out of hand. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have.

To further complicate matters, my mother had briefly returned to the States. My aunt had just given birth to triplets and needed all the assistance she could get. While I had been excited to have three brand new cousins all of a sudden, it had been at the temporary loss of having my mother around. Since my father’s flight schedule was a bit all over the place, it wasn’t surprising that I was left to my own devices.

So it was on the evening of June 20th that I found myself alone at my house. Remus had just gotten sick and I was quite bored. From my bedroom window I could see the fireflies out in the field under the light of the full moon. It occurred to my young, naïve self that if I caught some fireflies and took them to Remus, it would probably make him feel better.

It had been a wonderful plan. I caught at least have a dozen fireflies in the old glass jar and had screwed the lid on tight so none would escape. Then I had headed over to Remus’ house. The moon had been so bright overhead that I hadn’t even had to use a flashlight to find the path and arrived without any problems. It was when I approached the kitchen door at the back of the house that I heard the growling. It had seem to come from the cellar doors, which was situation next to the kitchen. They were the old fashioned type that opened outward from the cellar to the outside, but had been closed shut with a thick beam held secured by heavy brackets.

I had almost ignored the strange growling, had had my hand up to knock at the back entrance to the kitchen when the faint sounds of scratching and whining halted me. I set the glass jar with the captured fireflies down on the back steps and shuffled over to the cellar doors. Whatever could have been making that noise? Had the Lupin family gotten a dog? We had had to give up our German Shepherd when we transferred to England and father had refused my heartfelt pleas to get another.

I had been a very inquisitive girl and a very naïve one as well. I shoved the beam of wood out of the brackets without ever once wondering why the cellar doors had been barred from the outside, that danger might have been deliberately locked behind them. There was a moment of silence when the whining and scratching stopped. In the following stillness, the only thing to be heard were the crickets hidden in the woods and the soft sighing of the breeze through the leaves.

Then the cellar doors burst open.

Watching the blurry lights of city from the safe, glass-enclosed capsule of the London Eye, I could still vividly remember those awful eyes glowing like lanterns in the darkness of the cellar. In the space of a heartbeat it attacked, all claws and fangs. I think I had screamed, I must have, but all I had been able to focus on was the terrible visage lunging at my face. There was a sharp tugging where the claws dug into my shoulder and sudden warmth. Then somehow I was laying breathlessly on the cool ground.

The kitchen door burst open. I rolled my head to the side and saw Remus’ parents. His father raised a stick that curiously glowed and shot out balls of light at the monster. I remembered wondering whatever was he was doing with that silly little stick. His mother stood on the steps; at her feet lay the broken jar I had brought over. My earth-bound stars flickered as they escaped upward to the heavens. Before darkness descended my last thought had been that my gift for Remus was ruined.

I had woken up sometime later in the Lupin home, in Remus’ bed. He was nowhere around. His mother had fussed over me as she changed my bandages. Then the pain from my injured arm and shoulder flared awake. Mrs. Lupin fed me some strange medicine, all the while arguing with her husband. He had wanted to take me to some place called St. Mungo’s. She had argued that I was a Muggle and couldn’t be infected; only a wizard or a witch could contract it.

In the end, I had stayed the night at their home. An old woman with fly-away grey hair under a pointed black hat had visited. She gave me more medicine and had put some strange green stuff on my wounds when she changed the bandages. When I had asked about my father, I was told not to worry about him. It had all been taken care of.

Later the next day I had woken up to find Remus standing over me. There had been tears on his face and his blood-shot eyes were haunted with pain. He apologized for hurting me and had claimed it was all his fault. That was when finally revealed to me the whole story, had told me the truth behind is frequent bouts of illness. My introduction to the world of magic had been stained with my own blood and soaked in his tears.

When I had returned home a day or so later, my father had acted as if nothing was out of place. He had asked how my weekend at the Lupin house had gone and remarked how nice they had been to keep watch over me while he had worked. His memory had been altered, but mine hadn’t. I had vowed never to speak of what happened. There was also a very slim chance I had been infected, regardless of what Remus’ mother had said.

The next several weeks were a strange time. On the surface everything had appeared normal. Mom had returned home and Dad continued his flying. I saw Remus everyday. Beneath the surface was another story. Remus’ parents had watched me very closely. They had asked whether any of my habits had changed or if I suddenly craved meat more than previous. I had answered their questions and tried to ignore their constant observation. The only thing I had noticed was a lessening of my fibromyalgia flare-ups, something I didn't bother mentioning to them.

In any case, I had been more focused on Remus. Time after time I had told him that what happened wasn’t his fault. If anyone was to blame, it had been me with my inquisitiveness. I had opened the cellar doors, not him. Remus could not be held responsible for things done under the influence of the full moon. At least that had been what his mother insisted when she pulled me aside. Although I had told Remus I still loved him when on occasion we sat alone in his room, he refused to speak about that or to hold my hand during those long weeks.

When the full moon rose the next month, I was invited to the Lupin home for another sleep-over. That’s what my parents had thought. In actuality, I was there for my own safety as well as that of others. Remus remained locked in the basement. I was outside with his father. He kept guard over me with his wand in hand as the moon shone down like a baleful eye.

Nothing had happened, at least not to me. As I had stood there, hearing the growls and scratches from the cellar, relief broke over Mr. Lupin like a wave. A few days later, I had been presented with a charm bracelet that marked me as a wizard-friend. Instead of Obliviating my memory, they had rewarded my silence and loyalty.

Remus had given me a silver heart charm engraved with his initials to hang from the bracelet. As we sat alone on the back steps, he had leaned close and whispered that his heart was mine. For the first time since the attack, he told me he still loved me.

Everything had went back to normal, or as normal as could have been when the curtain between my dull world and the magical one had been pulled aside. I was saw so many wondrous things. There were pictures that moved, flying brooms and dozens of other enchanting delights. None of it held a candle to the magic I felt when Remus kissed me.

In late August, Remus had told me he would be going away to a wizarding school and his parents would moving from Thetford. It was then that I had truly experienced the first real longing to be that which I could not. I had wanted to go with him, but I was only a Muggle. It had been a bittersweet pill to swallow, knowing that I could never work real magic while he went away to learn all sorts of amazing things.

Remus knew my pain even though I had tried to hide it. The night before he left, we went out to the field one last time. While we sat there watching the fireflies, he had promised he would write me once a week. Christmas would come soon and he would head home and spend part of the holidays with me. It had almost been enough to ease my pain. Then he had held my hands and looked me in the eyes. Remus had promised that when he finished wizard school, he would marry me. It hadn’t matter to him that I was a Muggle, not back then.

It had been enough, those promises made at twilight with the fireflies dancing around us. I had held onto those promises when he left the next day. Remus wrote me, not as often as he had originally promised, but it was often enough.

Then silence. I had initially thought it was due to all the homework it seemed they heaped on him. Then the worst news possible arrived. My father had been given orders back to the States, to Minot Air Force Base in South Dakota. I had thought the world had fallen. How could this have happened? I couldn’t simply leave, not then. Remus had promised to come visit for Christmas.

I was a ball of anxiety when the owl from Hogwarts had finally arrived. It hadn’t been from Remus though; it was from the school. Our unique friendship had come to the attention of the administration. They went out of their way to state that a close friendship with a Muggle was inappropriate for a wizard in training. I was warned not to write Remus again.

It had left me devastated. When Remus did not write and the silence stretched out for weeks, I realized all hope had been lost. I had been discarded despite of the bracelet and the promises spoken. I was nothing more than a Muggle girl. In those dark days, I desperately wished they had altered my memory after the attack. The charm bracelet eventually its way into the bottom of my sock drawer. Two weeks before Christmas I closed my eyes to the realm of magic and had left England with a broken heart.

That should have been the end of it, the termination of my dealings with magic had lycanthropy not been lurking in my veins. Three years after the initial attack, in that small town in South Dakota, I discovered Remus’ legacy to me. I was a werewolf. My re-introduction to the world of magic had been drenched in blood. At least this time it had been only horse blood. The unfortunate creature had belonged to a local witch with ties to the Native Americans in the region. Meredith had introduced herself, cleaned me up and heard out my story. She gently scolded me for not wearing the wizard-friend gift. Then she put me in contact with the Werewolf Council.

In America, werewolves ruled themselves. Although there was a Werewolf Liaison Office at the US Bureau of Magic and the Supernatural, the government had allowed werewolves to take care of their own problems. If a werewolf went rogue, the Council handled the matter swiftly. They also took care of safe locations, inter-species and werewolf-Muggle problems, and newly-turned werewolves.

I learned to manage my affliction as I had once managed my fibromyalgia that had long since disappeared, but I had been determined to tackle my curse as a Muggle. The world of magic had been too painful for me. I finished high school and had gone straight into college in Denver, Colorado with the aim to become a lawyer. The month I graduated, my parents had died in a car accident. The last thing my mother had wished in our final conversation was to see me marry a good man.

So I tried to honor my mother’s wish. Remus had discarded me because I was Muggle. I had resolved it would be better if I stuck to my own kind and went through a number of boyfriends. My little monthly problem kept things from ever getting past the second or third date, though. I almost ate the last one, whose name for the life of me I still couldn’t remember. He had caught me at the wrong time and the wrong place, but luckily he got away. Thankfully the Werewolf Council pulled some strings and had his memory Obliviated.

That had been the turning point for me. I could no longer ignore the fact that I was simply not a Muggle anymore, not one hundred percent. So I decided to working for the USBMS. If you couldn’t beat them, then join them, right?

For the last fourteen years that’s what I have done. I have tried my best to make a place for myself, struggled to fit in. I dated no one, neither werewolf nor wizard because of the lingering memories of a certain boy. For years I worked with people whose abilities I secretly envied, and had been a guest speaker at the American Magical Academy where the youngest of students could perform feats I could only dream of. It was painful and wore at my soul.

Standing in the capsule of the London Eye, I realized I had come to yet another crossroads in my life. There was a truth here that was as plain as the charm bracelet on my wrist. I could no longer go on living like this. I had one foot in the Muggle world and one paw in the realm of magic, but I truly belonged to neither. I was forever caught on the outside looking in, with no place to call home.

I had to leave the realm of magic, but it was obvious that I could not flee totally into the Muggle world like I previously done. Even as I wondered what I would do, a scene of majestic mountains rose in my mind. Sweeping valleys and unspoiled tree covered landscapes called to mind my years in college. The place that I had felt was closest thing to being a home: the Rocky Mountains. The Werewolf Council had set up several large safe enclaves in that range of mountains, both on the U.S. and Canadian sides of the border. Perhaps that was where I could find the peace I needed.

Slipping off the bracelet, I held the heart-shaped charm to my lips. Twenty-two years. It had been twenty-two years to the day since I had last seen Remus Lupin as a boy headed off to school. We were no longer the same people we once had been, and I could no longer hold onto the past.

“Good bye, Remus,” I murmured and kissed his initials engraved on the charm before securing the bracelet in my pocket.

I felt curiously at peace when I exited the London Eye. My eyes were dry and my heart, no longer bleeding from the freshly opened wounds, was numb. I had a plan, it was simple one but it felt right. I would leave my job with USBMS and head to Rocky Mountains, maybe the Canadian side. I didn’t need much, just a little house with a view and the solitude to sooth my battered soul.

I was starting a new chapter of my life.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RAF Lakenheath is the home of the US Air Force 48th Fighter Wing in England.


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

As I walked down the street after my crying jag on the London Eye, I passed by a lovely bed and breakfast. ‘Hyde Park Radnor’ the sign read. It was a picture perfect Muggle establishment. I slipped inside and arranged for a room. Tomorrow I would return to the Leaky Cauldron one last time to gather my belongings, but I’d spend tonight here.

Before I went upstairs, I ask the desk attendant whether she knew of any ancient woods, somewhere a person could walk about and enjoy nature. She helpfully guided me to a website on the complimentary guest computer that detailed all of the forests in England. The Wye Valley area sounded nice, large and Muggle-like. It should be safe to wait out full moon there.

In my newly rented hotel room, I laid out my plans as I drank my Wolfsbane potion. I would gather a change in clothes and finish up my assignments tomorrow. Afterwards, I would need to settle my bill at the Leaky Cauldron and then snag the last train that went out to the Wye Valley region. The train ride would give me enough time to type up my resignation and if I was lucky, my final report. Once the full moon had set, I would take time to rest and put any finishing touches needed on my work before catching a flight back to New York and the start of my new life. My superiors at the USBMS would not like my abrupt resignation, but I would try my best to give them the standard two weeks before I pulled the plug.

Sleep came swiftly as did dreams of running beneath the moon. In them, I raced through the woods but not alone. Another werewolf ran alongside me, no matter how hard I tried to elude him or how fast I ran. Dawn arrived to find me already awake and restless. I funneled my energy into the tasks I had laid out, starting with retrieving a set of clothes.

The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty this early in the morning. As much as I hadn’t wanted to, I ended up wearing my bracelet in order to gain entrance. A quick wash up, a change of clothes and I was ready to finish my last bit of business. I’d be back later to pack my belongings, but for the moment I set my sights on a place called Little Whining.

Before I had arrived in England, one of the rumors we had heard of was an odd occurrence of an attack of a Muggle linked to magic. The official account our office received from the Ministry was unsatisfactory, to say the least. It had not been part of my original set of tasks, but since I was here it was reasoned I could look into it off the record as well.

I found the location was not far from Heathrow Airport, and after having paid the taxicab, set out to walk the area. According to the locals, it was unseasonably hot. Normally I would disagree, but the looming moon altered by perception. I ignored the trickle of sweat that crept down my back and focused on finding the alleyway mentioned in the report, somewhere near Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It wasn’t as if I expected to find a scent nearly a month after the attack, not even the enhanced senses of a werewolf could do that, but my superiors wanted me to nose around the area nonetheless.

I located the alleyway and noted the high fence on one side that faced a wall of garages. The weeds that managed to grow in odd corners were straggly, but the heat could account for that. It wasn’t until I interviewed one Arrabella Figg that I came across anything concrete. The file noted that she was the Squib that spoke as a witness during the Hearing – _they held a full hearing for this?_ My nose told me it was a good thing that I had found her puttering around outdoors; the many cats that she obviously owned would have found a werewolf’s presence disturbing, to say the least.

The other thing my senses told me was that Mrs. Figgs was truthful about what she believed had transpired in the alleyway. Her heart rate remained even, her perspiration did not increase and her scent, redolent of cats, never showed a spike in anxiety or fear. Like most werewolves, I was close to a walking lie detector in that respect.

 _At least most of the time. ‘James’ certainly had me fooled yesterday._ It was my fault that I had so readily trusted him in the first place, though. One whiff of male werewolf scent ...

I firmly pushed that out of my mind. My tears had all been spent and I needed to wrap things up. After thanking Mrs. Figgs for her time, I called for a taxi. I spent the ride back jotting down notes. 

_For crap’s sake, why hadn’t the Ministry simply required the Potter boy to share his memories of the events at the Triwizard Cup or the recent attack by Dementors via a Pensieve? Don’t tell me it was because it would require too much paperwork - that's just one step short of being plain stupid!_

The lawyer side of me was insulted. But that wouldn’t be my problem once I turned in my resignation. If the rumors of a long dead dark wizard somehow making a comeback turned out to be true, then the Bureau would have to determine how to handle any collateral damage without the assistance of this Mundane werewolf.

The rest of my day was spent tracking down miscellaneous tidbits of information, none of which yielded anything of significance. It was tedious work, something a junior agent could have easily handled. Knowing that did nothing to soothe the restlessness of the wolf lurking beneath my skin. I ended the day in front of the Leaky Cauldron more than a little foot-worn, tired of the smell of car exhaust and frustrated with the meaningless tasks that had filled a good portion of my day.

_What I need is a drink before I go pack up my stuff and then to find a nice restaurant, preferably one that serves a good, rare steak._

In the common room I stopped at the bar and ordered a shot of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. The patron next to me rudely stared until I began to wonder if I had grown a second head. It smelled like he hadn’t seen a bath in week and under that, faintly of cat. I couldn’t help but be reminded of Mrs. Figg. Between my hunger, his odor and his beady eyes, the fellow got under my skin.

“What’s your problem?” I finally asked after enduring his non-stopping gawking for a solid ten minutes. “Never seen a Muggle werewolf drink before?” He nearly fell off his stool. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. At least not much.” I slammed down the empty shot glass.

When I left to my room, eyes trailed my path up the stairs and I ignored them. In fifteen minutes, twenty at the most, I would be asked to leave the establishment. This would, for all intents and purposes, be the beginning of my exit from the realm of magic. Tomorrow’s resignation letter would simply be the icing on the cake.

I breathed in sharply through my nose to try and clear the stench of rude guy from my nostrils and calm myself. At once I was teased by the memory of Remus’ scent. _I don’t belong in his world,_ I reminded myself. _I never have._ I keyed the lock and opened the door to enter.

As the door swung back, I saw him. Remus stood at the dingy window staring out; his head leaned against the glass. I drank the sight of him in those rumpled robes like a long, cool drink. He turned towards me as I stepped inside. Emotions flitted across his features; concern was chased by relief.

I closed the door firmly behind me not knowing quite what to say, half afraid to breath. Seeing Remus again was not part of the plans I had laid. I had bade my farewells on the London Eye.

“Sarah.”

My name on his lips cut deeply into the protective numbness around my heart. Not a good sign. I gave myself a stern mental shake. _Remus is here out of some sense of obligation, nothing more. Remember that pretty pink-haired witch?_ It would be best if I stuck with my plan: pack quickly, settle my bill and leave. No good could come from any other path.

“I’m sorry-” We both started to speak at the same time. He graciously waved a hand for me to continue. It was a pure Remus-like gesture, something I remembered him doing when we were children, always letting me speak first. I needed to send him away before my heart started bleeding again. I dredged up the image of pristine mountains and held onto it like a shield.

“I apologize for the letter. It was presumptuous of me and totally unnecessary.”

Remus shook his head and was about to speak when I cut him off.

“No, really. I panicked. I know the laws regulating werewolves here in England are much harsher than in America. I guess I temporarily lost my head.”

I dropped my purse on the bed that separated us and bent to pull the luggage from underneath. I kept up the flow of words as I plopped the suitcase next to the purse. A bright smile was pasted on my lips that didn’t quite reach my eyes. It was hard not to breath in his scent.

“I plan on heading up to the Wye Valley area. It’s supposed to be a large, isolated forest, right? Should be some local Muggle inns or bed and breakfasts around. I’ll just grab a room and spend the evening in the woods. I have my Wolfsbane potion.”

All the while I was running my mouth, I was pulling open drawers, snatching my clothes and shoving them into the suitcase. Luckily I had packed light. As I opened the last drawer, Remus came up and laid a hand on my arm, stopping both me and my mouth. His hand was hot against my skin. My breath came quickly and I struggled to keep an even tone.

“Please tell me you didn’t come all this way because of that silly letter. I’m sure your girlfriend would rather you head back home.”

“Girlfriend?” His brow furrowed. “Do you mean Tonks, the witch with the pink hair?”

I simply nodded, holding my breath without even knowing why.

“She’s not my girlfriend, Sarah. Tonks is merely an associate.” His mildly spoken words undid me. “As far as your letter is concerned, I came to tell you that I do remember chasing fireflies. Rather fondly, in fact.”

Standing that close to him, I could no longer ignore his tantalizing scent; I could practically taste it on my tongue. My gaze was dragged upwards towards warm brown eyes I had never forgotten, with their flecks of gold. A strong, primal desire to bury my nose alongside his neck, just under his jaw and back towards his ear overcame me momentarily, made me unconsciously lean closer. It was purely wolf instinct, but I thought I saw the same desire reflected in his eyes.

The moment was broken by a series of sharp knocks on my door. I jerked away from Remus, grateful for the disturbance; my hand fluttered up to brush back a stray lock of hair. “That would be management. They just realized they have been renting a room to an undesirable.”

I seized my purse on the way to the door, making sure to keep a bright and happy smile plastered firmly to my face. Sure enough, there was the landlord. At his back was a large, seedy wizard.

_Oh goodie, little ol’ me rates some muscle in getting thrown out._

“Gentlemen, what a coincidence! I was just on my way to see you,” I gushed like a blonde bimbo. “I wanted to speak with you about settling my bill. My business here has concluded early and I will be leaving within the hour.”

Tom opened and closed his toothless mouth resembling a fish out of water. My ditzy behavior had confused him as I compliment the service I had received. As he stuttered the amount, I pulled out my money. It gave me perverse pleasure to see the tables turned on a non-werewolf. Remus watched the interaction without speaking a word, but I could feel the weight of his gaze on my back the entire time. Finally done, I closed the door and leaned back against it, arms crossed more to protect myself than anything else.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Sarah?”

There was no need to ask what he was referring to. The sad timbre to his voice and the look of regret on his face spoke volumes. It was the same look he had worn the first few weeks after the incident.

I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “I didn’t change for the first time until I was fourteen. Lycanthropy takes time to fully emerge in Muggles. Three years had passed at that point.” I dropped my eyes to the floor, unable to look Remus in the face. “I didn’t want to intrude on your life, not after the warning in that last letter from Hogwarts.”

I heard his footsteps as he approached. His shoes were the same brown as his robes; both looked equally battered. Were werewolves really treated so little respect that Remus had difficulty supporting himself?

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I told you in my last letter that would be arriving in a week.”

I shook my head. There had been no letter about his impending arrival. “I’m referring to the one from Hogwarts itself, telling me that it would be best if I stopped writing you. I was informed that a friendship with a Muggle was inappropriate and a distraction that a young wizard-in-training could ill-afford.” I lifted my face to meet his widening eyes.

Remus shook his head in disbelief. “Sarah, no, your friendship was never a distraction! On the contrary, it was the only reason I made it through those first few weeks.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I went to Thetford on Christmas break looking for you, Sarah, but you were gone. Your house was empty.” Emotion made his hoarse voice rough. “I can’t believe anyone would send such a letter from Hogwarts. Who wrote it, do you remember? Dumbledore would never authorize -”

He stopped abruptly and his eyes lost their focus. A grim smile twisted his lips. “Actually, I think I know who wrote it.”

“Your friend, perhaps? James or Sirius or whoever he is?” It would make sense. That Animagus had been altogether too charming.

Remus nodded once. “Sirius, yes, but I can see where James might have been involved long ago. I need to exchange a few words with Sirius, but for now, allow me to apologize for his behavior.” He cocked his head to the side. “His loyalty and concern were … misplaced.”

How could I not accept his apology? He had just told me that that horrible letter was not true. He had looked for me at Christmas when all along I thought I had been discarded because I was a Muggle. I bobbed my head and resumed packing. The clock was ticking and I doubted management would allow me to stay much longer.

“Regarding Wye Valley, Sarah …”

I glanced up at him as I locked up my suitcase. “Yes?”

“It has a fine old forest, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Several members of the Ministry have estates in the vicinity.” He laid his hands on top of the suitcase, almost touching mine. “However, I do know of a safe, secluded spot where there are fireflies.”

The ghost of the mischievous smile I remember so well tugged at his lips. I struggled to stay focus and not return his grin with one of my own.

“Fireflies, you say?”

He nodded and with one finger caressed the back of my hand. My stomach fluttered in response and I couldn’t stop my sudden inhalation or keep my heart from racing at his touch. Remus knew damn well the effect he was having on me.

“I promise.”

Those two little words froze me in place. Promises were something I had grown to dislike over the years. They were pretty little things, like brightly-wrapped presents that more often than not were filled with nothing more than dust and broken dreams. Remus and I had made many promises as children, but they had fallen apart. Other promises had come and gone as well in my life. Why trust promises?

Yet the warmth I saw in Remus’ eyes spoke to my heart and his scent, musky and untamed as it was, reassured me that he was sincere. If I accepted that little promise of fireflies, I could be opening myself to more pain. If I didn’t, I might always regret never taking the chance.

His fingers slipped to the charm bracelet and briefly stroked the charm he had given me. “I never make a promise I don’t intend to keep, Sarah.”

The image of mountains in my mind melted away like mist in the face of those gold-flecked eyes. I took a tremulous breath as I made a leap of faith and smiled.

“I’ll hold you to your word, Remus John Lupin.”

~ ~ * ~ ~

Remus escorted me to the Hyde Park Radnor. Traveling with a wizard had its advantages. He Side-Along Apparated me to an alley across the street from the bed and breakfast. I was grateful since this meant not having to brave the rude stares and comments I would have received in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron.

It was in that alley that the unexpected happened. I turned to say goodbye as he leaned his head towards mine and our lips met. It was brief and utterly chaste, like the kisses we had shared as kids long ago, yet it left me breathless. He gave me a wolfish grin that sent my heart speeding once more before keeping watch from the shadows as I crossed the street. I glanced back as I reached the glass door of the establishment. A bar of light from a nearby streetlamp illuminated part of his face, then he stepped back in the shadows and disappeared.

It was after a much needed cold shower that I realized why the name Sirius had sent up a flag in my mind. In bed, I weighed the information in my mind against the image of Remus for a long moment, and then decided it wasn’t important.

My sleep that night was filled with wolf dreams and the untamed scent of promises.

 


	5. Chasing Fireflies

As I read the morning paper in the dining room of the Hyde Park Radnor, I spotted Remus waiting for me in the alley. I slipped away my reading glasses and waved at him through the window. One last sip of coffee and then I was off.

In the alley, Remus greeted me with a question. “Glasses?”

I blushed. “I started using them last year. My sight is still perfect otherwise, just not for reading. I’m told it’s a quirk with Muggle werewolves.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “I still don’t like it. They make me look old.”

“They make you look lovely,” he murmured, then he smiled when my face flushed a darker pink. “I see you still blush prettily when you’re paid a compliment.”

I changed the subject quickly as my cheeks burned. “So, where are we off to? Nine o’clock seems a little early to be heading off to find fireflies.”

“Very true, however I thought we would start by visiting an old friend of mine. I believe he owes you an apology.”

He pulled my hand into the crook of his elbow and a few moments later, I found myself back in the large kitchen. It was empty this morning. Remus indicated for me to sit at the table and then he left. A moment later the kitchen door opened. Sirius walked in with a rather sheepish expression on his face. Behind him was Remus, who took out his wand and cast some spell at the door.

I turned my attention back to dark-haired Animagus. “Good morning, Sirius.”

Sirius, for his part, stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked down at his shoes. For a moment, I was given a glimpse of how he must have looked back at school when he had been called out on the carpet for some infraction. Even his scent held a lingering note of shame.

“I’d like to apologize, Sarah, for the deception yesterday and for that letter from Hogwarts years ago.” Then he lifted his grey eyes up to meet mine. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. I was only trying to protect Moony here.”

 _Moony?_ I filed that away for later. “Protect him from what?”

Sirius explained that when they were students, he and another boy named James had discovered that Remus regularly exchanged letters with a Muggle girl. It was their sincere belief that this could only lead to trouble. How would a Muggle girl ever understand about wizards, witches and magic? Why become fixated on one girl this early? More importantly, though, most wizards lived much longer lives than Muggles. In their boyish eyes, Remus was setting himself up for heartache and they couldn’t allow that to happen.

So they arranged to intercept our letters. When that wasn’t as successful as they had planned, they conceived of the idea of sending a letter from Hogwarts to warn me off. Remus returned from Christmas break depressed and dejected, but eventually got over it. At least that was what they thought; Remus simply hid his pain. Neither had ever confessed to Remus what they done and in fact, James took the secret to his grave.

I found I could swallow Sirius’ point of view when he was a kid. He and James were just boys at the time, no older than eleven or twelve, and confident they knew everything worth knowing. Most boys were of that frame of mind at that age and if half of what Sirius had told me yesterday about those pranks were true, well, this sounded right up their alley. Plus, how could they know that lycanthropy extended the lifespan of a Muggle? All of that, though didn’t lessen the sting of yesterday’s incident.

“How did you even get my letter yesterday? The owl should have taken it to Remus. Did you even recognize my name?”

“Remus had just left not two seconds before the owl arrived. I simply offered to take the message. Then I read it to see if it was important enough to recall Remus from where he was headed off to.” Sirius shrugged. “How could I not remember you? It’s not like Remus had any other Muggle friends, and I was curious what you were like. So I sent you the letter and the scarf. It was stupid and wrong to go meet you and bring you back here, in more than one way,” he said, aiming a loaded glance at Remus that left me wondering what that was about.

Sirius continued, “Truly I had intended to give Moony your letter after I met you. I just got caught up chatting with you and the next thing I knew, there was Remus and everyone else.”

I looked over at Remus and then back at Sirius, whose scent held the telltale marks of sincerity. The image of him acting out how Remus had held down that cat years ago played in my mind and I found myself shaking my head. “I might regret this, but you’re his dear friend, aren’t you?” When he nodded, I continued. “Then I forgive you.”

The boyish smile that I had been charmed with yesterday afternoon came out like the sun after the rain. Sirius fairly beamed. He elbowed Remus.

“I think I approve of her, Moony,” he announced.

That raised my eyebrows. “Approve of me?” I asked indignantly. “Are you serious?”

“The last time I checked in the mirror.” They exchanged looks and burst out laughing. After a moment I joined in. I couldn’t help myself.

_Man, I walked right into that one._

Remus elbowed him. “You’re a prat, Padfoot. You know that, right?”

~ ~ * ~ ~

From there Remus Apparated us somewhere far north to a small village called Hogsmeade. It was a place he had often visited while attending school. We stopped for tea at Madam Puddifoots and then Remus introduced me to the delights of Honeydukes Sweetshop. We bought Chocolate Frogs, Jelly Slugs and liquorice wands. I had eaten similar candies back home, but it was so much better with Remus at my side. It was like being wrapped up in the wonderment that I thought had been left behind in childhood. That alone would have made my day, but Remus had one other surprise for me.

He borrowed a broomstick and took me flying. I have been flying once before, but I had not been comfortable with the ground so far below me. With Remus I felt safe, seated behind him and holding onto his waist. We left the village and slowly headed towards what appeared to be an enormous, unkempt ruin. Why he would be interested in showing me the tumbled down remains of what once might have once been a castle was a mystery to me, at least until my bracelet began to tingle and then vibrate wildly.

He halted the broom in midair and told me to expose my bracelet. A shimmering wave of magic swept over the ruins to reveal what I had only seen before in wizarding newspapers. It was Hogwarts. How had I dreamed of coming here with Remus long ago when he first left for school. Now he made that dream come true.

“Don’t cry, Sarah,” he whispered back to me. I couldn’t stop the tears of joy from streaming down my face.

From the sweeping turrets of Hogwarts, we turned toward a dark forest that sat at its borders. The woods were immense. Remus informed me this was the Forbidden Forest and our destination. We landed somewhere just past the edge of the tree line on the northern side of the woods. There a small cabin was tucked under an old, moss covered tree and next to a creek.

The cabin served as a safe place, one Remus had used in the past. It was small and equipped with the basic necessities. Remus lit the stove and soon a pot tea was brewing. Several candles scattered throughout the cabin afforded us light. We spent the long afternoon exchanging stories of our lives. I told him about my struggles of living as a Muggle with a wolf beneath my skin, and the challenges of being a Muggle in the wizard community.

“So why were you in London?” he inquired as he played with the flame of a candle next to him. With a wave of a hand he turned it off; then he would relight it on the next pass. “You mentioned business in your letter.”

“Bureau business with the Ministry.” When he looked questioningly at me, I elaborated. “I work for the U.S. Bureau of Magic and the Supernatural. It’s the equivalent of your Ministry of Magic.” I went on to describe the information we had gathered, how it seemed to match up with events in the wizard community here and the Ministry’s response.

Remus was quiet. He stopped playing with the candle’s flame. “Your people are right. The Ministry is perhaps more concerned with their appearance than they are with the truth.” He held up a hand to forestall the questions I burned to ask. “You say your friend is the Dean of the American Magical Academy. She may want to contact her counterpart here.”

That was all Remus would say on the matter. He stood up and made another pot of tea. I felt the comfortable mood we had enjoyed up to that point had been somewhat spoiled, so I dropped the subject. To make up for it, I asked him about his years in school. Had Sirius been telling me the truth when he boasted of all those pranks? What else had they done? Remus gladly obliged. The next hour was spent learning the pranks had been real, why Sirius referred to him Moony and the depths of the friendship they shared.

“You know, I could have arrested Sirius,” I confided in him. We were now both sitting comfortably on the floor. I kicked off my shoes and wiggled my toes in my socks. Last night I had remembered why the name Sirius had niggled my memory. “They alerted us last year about him. I’m sure that the Ministry would be delighted to have the infamous Sirius Black back in their hands regardless of who caught him.”

Seated beside, me Remus had gone very still and wore a particular look on his face. _Damn._ I had wandered back into the realm of grim subjects.

“For crap’s sake, do you really think I would have done that, Remus John Lupin? To your best friend?” I nudged him with my sock-enclosed foot.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Sirius is innocent. He didn’t commit those murders, Sarah.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “If you say Sirius innocent, then I know he is. Actually, the only crime I believe he’s guilty of is being too damn charming. And shaving that cat in Hogwarts and painting it maroon and gold. Do you think your old headmaster would give you guys detention if I told him? I could write a letter,” I offered. “But you have to promise me not to intercept it.”

Remus’ laughter at my ludicrous suggestion was low and rich, and felt altogether too good not to join in. His smiled brightened his usually somber face and made him look young again.

I leaned my head on his shoulder while I stripped off my socks and threw them next to the outer robe he had discarded earlier. It felt stifling inside the cabin, but I knew it really wasn’t. This was a side effect of the moon. My skin was hot, just as was Remus’. He loosened his shirt collar, undoing a button.

I sat up and looked toward the window where dark shadows were gathering. I could almost feel that bright orb like a heaviness that sat in my mind. Instinctively I knew exactly where it was. Right there, slowly rising. It was whispering to me.

“Can you feel it, Remus?”

“Yes,” he replied. “The time is rapidly approaching.”

Remus withdrew a large blue phial from pocket. I did the same, though mine was of clear glass. We uncapped the stoppers and brought the phials together as if in a toast. Then we drank our Wolfsbane potions. It was particularly disgusting. I never had gotten used to the taste and had to fight my gagging reflex. Could no one make this wretched stuff taste any better? You’d think with magic at their disposal, it would be easy enough.

Once I finished, I turned to watch as Remus casually stood up and tossed our phials in a wastebasket. Then he unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. Tantalizing glimpses of pale skin with a sprinkling of dark chest hair peeked out. When he flashed me a look of mild amusement, I realized I had been staring. I turned away in embarrassment.

This was the part I had been somewhat dreading. Werewolf transformations have a detrimental effect on clothing. It was customary to remove one’s clothes prior to the change, as well as plain common sense. In all my years, I have only spent a handful of moons with other werewolves and then only with females. Each of those times I sought privacy and separated myself just prior to the change; once the transformation had been complete, I had opted to sleep through the night.

Here in the little cabin there was no room for privacy, and slipping away felt wrong somehow. I climbed to my feet and presented Remus with my back. Slowly I undid the buttons on my shirt and left it open. As I fingered the belt buckle on my jeans, I heard Remus moving about. There was a rustling of clothes and then the twin sounds of shoes thumping to the floor, followed by quiet footsteps. All but one candle was extinguished. The scent of the smoke tickled my nose in the dim flickering light. Remus was giving me what little privacy that lone candle would afford and I was grateful.

I undid the zipper to my jeans. Hooking my thumbs under my panties, I skimmed both garments down my legs in one swift movement. Cooler air kissed the back of my thighs where my shirttail ended. I neatly folded my jeans and then glanced hesitantly over my shoulder. The heat of his gaze set my skin tingling. Remus stood motionless in the shadows. His clothing lay on the floor in an untidy heap near his feet. I refocused my eyes on his face, resisting the urge to look lower.

“Sarah,” he breathed my name reverently as if it was a prayer, his hoarse voice rough with emotion. Stepping forward, he took the folded jeans out of my hands and tossed them carelessly in the direction of his clothes on the floor. Then he pulled me into the flickering light from the candle.

Feverish fingers ran up the opening of my shirt, pushing it apart and then off my shoulders. Staring into his eyes, I let the shirt fall around my feet. Goosebumps prickled my skin as he traced the straps of my bra over my shoulders. Remus suddenly leaned closer, as if to kiss me. Instead he rubbed his cheek alongside mine. The stubble on his jaw was pleasurably rough as he buried his nose just below my ear, inhaling my scent. My stomach clenched and there was a deep-seated ache that pooled much lower.

“Run with me, Sarah.” It was plea I couldn’t refuse; a demand I yearned to submit to. I turned my face towards his neck and breathed in deeply. My hands glided up his bare shoulders for balance and the blood sang in my veins.

Then he pulled away, sliding my bra off. Somehow I had missed him unhooking it. My skin tingled in a manner that had nothing to do with my impending change. Then he took my wrist in his hand and unfastened the clasp of my bracelet. With utmost care Remus placed it next to the candle.

We walked out of the cabin and onto the cool moss and leaf covered ground. The sheltering branches of the tree that towered above held the cabin in deep shadows. The moon was mere moments from rising. As I step forward in anticipation of its insistent call, Remus stepped behind me. His hands slid around my waist, halting my movement and molding my body against his.

Remus trailed light kisses down the side of my neck. Unexpectedly, he nipped down hard where my neck curved down to my shoulder. I shuddered in unexpected pleasure and reveled in the sensation.

“I never stopped loving you,” I whispered.

“And I gave you my heart long ago.”

Then the moon rose. I felt my body go stiff and every part of me prickled. Its call set my blood boiling. Remus pulled away as my limbs trembled suddenly and then a wave of pain engulfed me, driving me to my knees. Bones shifted, muscles spasmed and my skin stretched to the point of ripping. Fur burst forth, thick and shaggy. My hands clawed furrows into the ground beneath me and my sight turned red as the very breath was crushed out of my chest. I lost myself in the agonizing transformation.

As I lay recovering on the ground later with my chest heaving, a wet nose poked into my ear. It was followed by a tongue rasping along my cheek. I opened one eye to see him standing guard over my new form with its covering of pale fur.

 _‘Safe,’_ he whined. _‘Better now?’_

The world around me was magnified ten-fold. Everything appeared so crisp, leaves were picked out in the light of the moon and each scent beckoned. I stood up, wobbly at first. When I gained my balance, I shouldered him playfully. Remus was larger and heavier than me. When he shouldered me in returned, I nearly went sprawling. I was faster though. The second time he bumped me, this time without quite as much force, I reached up and nipped his ear hard.

He yelped in unexpected pain and I shot away from him like a phantom, but not too fast. I wanted him to catch me. He did, sooner than I expected, and I was bowled over unceremoniously. Remus growled in mock anger until I bared my throat. Then he nipped me gently.

_‘Follow. Hunt.’_

I trailed after him deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Spears of moonlight lit our way. A fleet stag crossed our path and we chased it down, surging over fallen trees, racing like the wind. The taste of its blood was hot and sweet, and we licked each other’s muzzles clean.

Then Remus led me down a moss covered path that opened into a peaceful glen. Dancing just above the fragrant grass were fireflies. They flitted about, winking on and off like Christmas lights, earth-bound stars that recalled the innocence of childhood.

I nuzzled Remus in the shadows. My love for him was bigger than the moon that hung heavily in the sky. It had never waned and never would, I promised him.

Then we ran into the glen, tongues lolling and feet flying. Under the light of the full moon, we played as we once had as children. We were chasing fireflies.

**_~ Finite ~_ **

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written way back in September 2006. The idea for the story sprang from the notion of what might happen if a werewolf infected a Muggle. From that innocent question, my muse latched onto the song ‘Me and Charlie Talking’ by Miranda Lambert and Sarah walked into my mind.
> 
> This chapter written to the song “Brass Bed” by Josh Gracin on his self-title album.


End file.
